


With Charcoal Hands

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Category: Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art School, Art School, Artist Khadgar, Drawing, Ficlet, LionTrust, M/M, Model Lothar, Nude Model Lothar, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khadgar is an artist who prides himself on being polite and respectful to the nude models. He doesn't gawk or stare. He just draws.</p><p>And then in walked that asshole with blue eyes and bulging muscles. Khadgar cannot handle it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Charcoal Hands

There's a certain kind of decorum when it comes to being an artist. Khadgar, surrounded by fellow artists, knows that the use of headphones and earbuds mean that the owner, of said headphones and earbuds, isn’t willing to talk at the moment. When someone is struggling with a large, intricate sculpture, you hold the door open for them. When attending art school, it’s often the little things that show respect for fellow students and professors.

And the models. Always respect the models.

Khadgar admires them, their confidence to pose _nude_ for _God knows how long_. Because not only are they baring all to college students - said college students are sighting and measuring and _judging_. They are being examined and recreated, restated, redesigned onto canvas, paper, wood, clay. Every flaw, every bump or fat fold ends up in the final project. Or it doesn’t. Khadgar isn’t sure which would bother him more. Is it worse to have all of him on display, or to know that someone chose to cut out certain parts. 

Khadgar admires the models. And he respects them.

Part of the artist decorum is to not use a cellphone or camera during live model sessions - professors and moderators always remind students to respect the model’s privacy. Khadgar always leaves his phone in his backpack. 

Another courteous, but unspoken, rule is to _not_ stare and gape at anything for too long. No one deserved to have anyone leering at them. Khadgar never had any issues with gawking at the models. He thought them lovely or interesting but in the same way he felt about landscapes and abstract works. It wasn’t sexual.

And then _that guy_ walked in. Khadgar dropped his charcoal, barely registering that it rolled somewhere under his easel.

_That guy_ was tall, wearing a tight shirt and jeans that hung low on his hips. They exposed the waist band of his underwear and a smooth, toned strip of skin below the navel. His hair was half down, half tied into a bun. His beard was long but mostly well kept. And those eyes. Blue, like the chilled bodies of water by a glacier. They were cold and clear and beautiful and staring right at Khadgar.

And they continued staring at him as their owner lifted off their shirt. Abs. Khadgar didn’t really think that actual people had abs like that, like greek gods, but that guy certainly did. Khadgar scrambled to pick up his charcoal, and to _stop looking at him, for the love of God._ When he tried to stand back up, after crouching under the easel, Khadgar bumped his head on the easel.

“Oww.” He winced. He should just go home.

The model snorted. A few of his classmates giggled. Khadgar blushed.

He should really just go home. There was no way he could draw this guy and remain focused and polite and respectful. Obviously the best thing to do would be to let the professor know that he wasn’t feeling well and to get the hell out of that class room.

And then the model started unbuttoning his jeans. He was torturing Khadgar, going slowly. The professor closed the classroom door and gave a description of how the class would go and Khadgar panicked internally. Class had begun. He couldn’t leave.

And Mr.Six-Pack-Man-Bun was on the pedestal, waiting for the professor to finish. Khadgar avoided looking at the model, choosing instead to tell himself to _calm the fuck down_.

The model peeled off the last remainder of clothing and posed. One hand dangled by his hip, the other rested on his collar. He faced away from Khadgar, thank God, eyes cast down. One of his legs was bent slightly, as if he were shifting his weight. He was beautiful.

Khadgar’s eyes drifted downward, only for a moment, and even though he wasn’t erect, Khadgar could see he was large, thick. _Shower or grower_ , Khadgar wondered absently and then berated himself. He looked away quickly and stared at his blank paper. He could feel the heat on his cheeks.

Pencils and pieces of charcoal scratched against paper, soft music played in the background. Khadgar willed himself through the motions - figuring out proportions, composing a rough sketch, trying not to stare at the model for too long. That last part is especially difficult considering Khadgar was supposed to be drawing him. He would look at him in short bursts, trying to gather as much detail as he could in those few seconds before throwing it all up onto the paper.

As expected, his drawing looked like crap. The shoulders were too narrow, one hand was bigger than the other. The shading was all wrong. He hadn’t even attempted the face yet.

“Everything alright, Khadgar?” The professor asked, pausing by Khadgar’s easel.

“I’m having an off day.” That was one way to put it. Another way would be _the model is too attractive for me to focus_. And even another way would be _I have no chill_.

The professor nodded and pointed out somethings to change - all of which Khadgar knew already, but he didn’t interrupt. He just nodded.

Khadgar was talented. He worked hard, he practiced and he just happened to be _good_ at drawing. He knew that he _should_ be able to create something beautiful but his paper didn’t reflect that at all. It was a mess of lines and inaccuracies. 

“Alright everyone, let’s take a ten minute break and then get back to it.” The professor said. Almost as soon as the words left his mouth Khad grabbed his phone and bolted out of the class room. He raced down the stairs and out the door before sitting on the steps outside of the building.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He took a quick drag, and then another. And then Khadgar texted his roommate/friend, Garona.

 

_Khadgar: Hot model. Send help._

_Garona: Don’t look at his dick_

_Khadgar: Thank you. You’ve solved all my life’s struggles, oh wise goddess. I bow to thee_

 

Garona then proceeded to send Khadgar the eggplant emoji and mock his pain. He ignored the rest of her texts in favor of trying to get as much nicotine into his body as possible before having to go back to class.

“Hey, can I bum a smoke?” A voice asked. Khadgar turned his head to see the model - clothed, obviously. Khadgar coughed, nearly choking, as the guy sat down next to him.

“Sure,” Khadgar tried to stop hacking his lungs out but he didn’t exactly expect the reincarnation of _Adonis_ to ask _him_ for a smoke.

The man took the cigarette, albeit a little wearily. “Are you okay, kid?”

“M’fine.”

“Mhmm. Right.” The man took a long, lazy pull before letting smoke drift out of his mouth. “I’m Lothar.”

“Khadgar.”

“Gesundheit.” Lothar deadpanned and then smirked. “That’s really your name?”

Khadgar blushed and huffed out a laugh, bits of his cough still lingering in his chest. “Yup. That’s really my name.”

Lothar smiled around the cigarette, “I like it.” That smiled turned Khadgar’s brain into putty. He nodded, dumbly, unable to formulate words or sentences. Lothar put out his cigarette on the steps of the building. “See you back inside, Khadgar.” 

As he stood up he winked. Khadgar’s mouth hung open and his cigarette fell out and ash cover one leg of his pants. He brushed it off and Lothar laughed at him. Again. For the second time that day. 

 

_Khadgar: HE TALKED TO ME_

_Garona: Who??_

_Khadgar: HOT MODEL_

_Khadgar: HIS NAME IS LOTHAR AND HE WINKED AT ME I AM DYING_

_Garona: Man bun and blue eyes?_

_Khadgar: YOU KNOW HIM?!?_

_Garona: Yes._

 

Khadgar waited for her to say more but she didn’t. All she did was send him the smiling devil emoji - which did nothing for him except send him back into spiraling worry. How did Garona know Lothar and why didn’t she introduce him to Khadgar? Why was the universe killing him slowly?

He sighed and stood up. It was time for him to go back to class.

Khadgar returned to his mess and groaned at it under his breath. He flipped the page and decided to start over and this time he’d actually _look_ at Lothar.

With soft charcoal he mapped out the contours of Lothar’s body, making sure to get everything right this time. He didn’t stare or gape, because he was a respectful man, dammit. He just _gazed_ and tried to replicate the beauty that stood before him. Then he started with the harder charcoal, adding shadows and erasing highlights. Had Khadgar been allowed to use pastel he would have added blue to the eyes, but instead he was restrained to back and white.

When class ended Khadgar didn’t have much of a background in his piece but at least the subject, the figure looked acceptable.

Khadgar started packing up his supplies, maybe just a bit slower than usual. Lothar stepped into his jeans and padded, barefoot, over to Khadgar.

“I had to start over.” Khadgar admitted sheepishly, watching for Lothar’s reaction. 

“That’s incredible.” Lothar said, turning away from the drawing. The class room was empty then. Just the two of them.

Khadgar smiled at him. “I had a good model.”

“Maybe I could model for you again sometime.” Lothar said, leaning closer to Khadgar. His face turned pink.

“Maybe.”

 

 

-Epilogue-

 

“What do you mean he’s Callan’s dad?!” Khadgar squeaked. The dishes slipped from his hand and into the sink. Garona laughed, tears rolling down her cheeks. She braced herself against the kitchen counter.

“Callan _Lothar_ , my boyfriend, son of Anduin _Lothar,”_ She was wheezing, “You want to fuck my boyfriend’s dad!”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.” She giggled, slumping down to the floor. Khadgar threw a dish towel at her.

Why did she have to be right?

**Author's Note:**

> Art School shenanigans are the best.  
> (I go to art school, lol)


End file.
